


Erased

by Winterlynne_Norvic



Series: Steter Week 2020 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alpha Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Compliant, Good Peter Hale, I’d say, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Hale Gives Stiles Stilinski The Bite, Steter Week 2020, Then, Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Stiles Stilinski, Wild Hunt (Teen Wolf), but that would be a bit of a lie, pack of two, up to season 6b
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:07:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterlynne_Norvic/pseuds/Winterlynne_Norvic
Summary: “Do. You want. The Bite. If it doesn’t kill you, and it could, you’ll become like me.”He replied on beat, “Like you?” Pulse steady, but his eyes read of mischief.“Yes. A werewolf. I assume by now you don’t need a picture.”Stiles snorts and Peter’s mouth tips upward. They’d broken script, but that had been the plan the entire time.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Steter Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853551
Comments: 29
Kudos: 291





	1. Chapter 1

Scalding water fell from the shower head above, torturing the naked skin directly under its barrage. It hurt, obviously, as it steadily rained on him. But the heat in the glass enclosed 3 by 6 ft grandiose shower was the only thing penetrating the cold he’d felt for...months. Months. They’d spent months in the train station, forgotten.

Curled up on the tiled floor he didn’t even need to close his eyes to see the despondent trapped souls waiting on benches for a train to never come, sent there by creatures that Stiles once would have made fun of for their appearance. The Wild Hunt had come, had taken what it liked, and erased him, them, from the world.

Stiles felt violated, inside and out. He felt broken sometimes, like he’d lost whatever spark had kept him going in the hunt. Now he just wanted to be safe, to feel the warmth of being surrounded by those he had loved and loved him. But he couldn’t. He’d been forgotten, and he would not be remembered. They might have escaped the Hunt, but they had not escaped its aftermath. 

Under the steady stream of drops pain blossomed, burns bloomed and then healed in the span of seconds, exhausting his body in the attempts to stop the damage. It was the only way to get him to stop thinking long enough to fall into sleep induced by sheer exhaustion. Peter let him, he knew on bad days Stiles only felt some semblance of safety in this room with Peter keeping watch.

Head tilted back out of the downpour he struggled to take a breath, no matter how deep or shallow, or how his lungs strained, he drew in more steam than air. On the next failed inhale Stiles heard more than saw the glass door sliding open, and felt Peter hovering over him, coming to his rescue again. Strong arms wrapped around Stiles, one under his legs and the other curled around his back to lift him up and against a bare chest.

From the connected bathroom he’s carried into the bedroom and lowered onto Peter’s bed, there’s already a towel layed out for him to sit on and Peter grabs another folded beside it to dry Stiles off. He’s so gentle about it that Stiles only feels more delicate, more fragile than he already is. He hates it but he craves it too. He wonders how Peter is holding himself together while Stiles is barely keeping from crumbling apart.

“One of these days you’re going to drown yourself.” Stiles felt the vibrations as Peter spoke, and somewhat nonsensically wondered how he could drown when he was already drowning. Still drowning. 

He hadn’t had oxygen to breathe for so long. Not longer than Peter though. The fire had consumed all his oxygen over half a decade before Stiles had even begun to sink.

“Y’uh won’t let meh.” He slurs.

“That’s correct, darling boy.” Sweats are tugged up his legs, and then blankets are being pulled up to his chin. Stiles struggles to say something but Peter won’t let him. “Hush now, it’s time for you to sleep.”

“Alpha.” He pleads. 

Red eyes flash.

Stiles sleeps.

* * *

  
  
  


They have to leave.

It’s obvious that Stiles will die in this town if they stay any longer. Peter already did, and glancing at his beta, the one that’s tortured himself into shutting down his body to get some rest for the third day in a row, he knows he’ll self destruct. Peter had had no choice but to stay when he’d lost everyone he loved, but Stiles has the ability to choose, and will choose the option that ruins him.

Peter can’t allow that.

He couldn’t quite say when he’d gotten attached to the boy. Peter had been insane the first few times they’d crossed paths, even then however, something about Stiles had drawn in Peter. He offered the bite and respected his wishes when Stiles turned him down, reasonably so. Coming back to life had lead to saner meetings, and Peter had enjoyed them. Somewhat. Enough to stay. Peter helped save Stiles from the Nogitsune, and even if it had been self serving at the time, he hadn’t regretted it. Not when the boy had voted on his death by wolfsbane bullet after Peter had once again attempted to kill Scott for the alpha spark. The alternative that the band of miscellaneous teenagers had chosen by majority vote was Eichen House, and unshockingly death will always be preferable to that place. Stiles knew it from his own brief stint of insanity and resulting incarceration, like he also probably knew that Peter could resurrect himself as long as his head remained attached to his body and his heart lay in his chest.

Many things about Stiles had made him endearing, but nothing could solidify the fledgling pack bond that they’d had for over a year more than enforced isolation at the hands of the Wild Hunt. In there where all the Erased-as Stiles had taken to calling them-were held, only the two of them could remain lucid for extended periods of time. Stiles against his better judgement at the time had kept Peter with him instead of leaving him to rot like any entirely and not morally compromised sane person would have. They’d worked on escaping for what they later learned had been months, and it wasn’t until they’d seen another lucid human try to exit through a supernatural portal and burn to death, that they learned leaving could be done. For supernatural creatures. Specifically the members of the Hunt (fae, but of a different sort, not from the Courts with designations and distinctions and warring factions of their own.)

Peter had been born a wolf though and knew  _ just _ enough to know instinctively that he’d be able to go through that portal and come out the other side with extensive damage, but alive. Stiles on the other hand would not.

_ “Darling,” Peter started, Stiles didn’t even attempt to question the endearments anymore let alone protest them, and looked up at him with an air of despair that he hadn’t previously shown Peter before, though he’d known it existed. This place managed to suck all the hope and the life out of its inhabitants. Peter was fairly sure that it was fueled by them too. _

_ “I know.” He replied, “I won’t survive a trip through that portal with my humanity and all.” Stiles turned away and stared at the spot where the portal had been only moments before. Moments that could very well have been days depending on how time passed in their little pocket of non-existence. _

_ “You can go.” Stiles stated, not a question, not telling him to go away. Stiles had always been the smart one, and it seemed a martyr too. “You’ll survive it.” And Peter understood he was being given permission to save himself. He found himself...reluctant to do so, and realized once more that somewhere along the way he’d grown feelings for the young man sitting on the floor. _

_ “I don’t think I will.” He replied, Stiles’ head whipped back around and he found himself on the end of an incredulous stare. “It’s a novelty,” he replied drolly, “I know. I am after afterall rather fond of saving my own skin, but it would be a tragedy to lose a mind as bright as yours to this place.” _

_ Stiles snorted and shook his head. “You’re insane, just stating for the record. Possibly about the hundredth time I’ve said it too.” _

_ “The record must be accurate,” Peter agreed. “Since we’re the only ones that remember it now. We wouldn’t want others that come across us to be uninformed.” _

_ “What others?” Stiles countered. _

_ Peter flicked out his claws and retracted them again. Flexing a muscle that he’d never be able to do in public. Proving a point. “Fair.” _

_ “We won’t find another way out.” Stiles pointed out. _

_ “We won’t.” Peter agreed. _

_ They’re silent, and perhaps Peter is cruel, but he lets Stiles feel the despair a little longer. It would make this next part easier to swallow if Peter orchestrated the next few steps well enough. _

_ Of course he needn’t have worried. Stiles never failed to astound him. _

_ “I bet we’re both wishing that I hadn’t lied that night.” _

_ “Lied about what?” He asks, not about what Stiles  _ **_means_ ** _ , no. They both know which night he’s referring to. _

_ “You’re a sick bastard, y’know.” _

_ “And you’re a liar, darling. At least I come by my faults honestly.” _

_ He can’t refute that, and Stiles stews in his rage until it runs out of him. (And into a box most likely. Stiles seems the type to bury things deep down.) _

_ “You just want me to say it.” _

_ “Perhaps you need to say it.” _

_ “That’s not a denial.” _

_ “Because, sweet boy, I’m not denying it.” _

_ Stiles burst when the silence had dragged on once again. “I hate you. I hate you for telling me I lied. Like I didn’t already know. Like I didn’t already know that I lied to myself and to you about wanting the bite, and the power, and the belonging of being part of a pack. With someone who is like me down to their very base core.” _

_ Peter feels a yearning for the young man in front of him, and shudders at the intensity. Hearing what he’d known admitted out loud tasted like the sweetest victory, and contrary to popular belief, Peter had quite an insatiable sweet tooth.  _

_ “We could remedy that.” _

_ “What.” _

_ Instead of calling him out for his Derek-like response, Peter took ahold of Stiles’ right wrist, and brought it up to his mouth. He inhaled the matured human scent of Stiles that still clung to the plaid even in here where the boy had no scent at all, so different from the one that he had smelt the first time this scenario had played out. Peter exhaled slowly and when he opened his eyes… _

_ Stiles inhaled sharply. _

_...he made sure they were glowing Alpha red. _

_ His heartbeat didn’t quicken (more so than his usual at least) like Peter had expected it would at the reveal. No, it seemed like Stiles had actually calmed. Interesting considering the last time they’d been in this position. Speaking of, Peter did feel rather nostalgic, he wondered if his boy would play with him on a trip down memory lane. _

_ “I like you, Stiles. Since you’ve helped me, I’m going to give you something in return. Do you want the bite?” _

_ A pause. “What?” Stiles of past echoes Stiles of present in Peter’s mind.  _

_ “Do. You want. The Bite. If it doesn’t kill you, and it could, you’ll become like me.” _

_ He replied on beat, “Like you?” Pulse steady, but his eyes read of mischief. _

_ “ _ **_More_ ** _ like me.” Peter amends, realizing for the first time how queer Stiles’ response had been back then. Originally Peter had said ‘like us’ not ‘like me’. Stiles had been the one to specify ‘you’ and mean Peter. Perhaps it had never been a question mark on the end of those two words, but a period. _

_ “Yes. A werewolf. I assume by now you don’t need a picture.”  _

_ Stiles snorts and Peter’s mouth tips upward. They’d broken script, but that had been the plan the entire time.  _

_ That had been the plan- _

_ “You’ll be Powerful.”  _

**_The_ ** _.  _

_ “Stronger.”  _

**_Entire_ ** _.  _

_ “Quicker.”  _

**_Time_ ** _.  _

_ “Equal.” _

_ No more standing by his side, Peter promised himself. _

_ “No more watching.” He promised them both. _

_ “Yes or no?” _

_ Stiles is his,  _

_ “Yes.” His heart doesn’t flutter. “I want to be like you.” _

_ and it was time for Peter to claim him. _

_ Peter bit Stiles’ wrist, and made one last promise. On pain of death, they would both survive the Wild Hunt. _

Peter had yet to fulfill that promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I say this would be posted soon? Well. That was a lie. I’m sorry lol. Lots of feels this chapter, we’ll be getting some more plot later, but that is not now. Since it’s been so long, maybe re read the first chapter because ya girl did some stuff that’s a little poetic and aesthetically pleasing (in my opinion) when read as a whole. 
> 
> Warning, just some discussion of canon violence and the resulting trauma.
> 
> Also, MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄 
> 
> (And let’s ignore that this was supposed to be done around Steter week and not several months later)

Gentle rocking and the occasional bump brings Stiles back from unconsciousness. He knows without opening his eyes that he is not where he fell asleep, judging from a variety of things, like strapping him down is a belt across his chest and the fact that beds do not recline like so no matter how much money Peter spends on them. He’s in a moving vehicle, that’s obvious enough, but figuring out which of Peter’s cars would take more effort than Stiles felt like giving. Even to just open his eyes.

Asking Peter where they’re going would be pointless, too. The effort wasn’t worth it when the answer was “away”, and ‘where from’ lay in their rear view mirror. Stiles had a feeling he’d never see Beacon Hills again, and he didn’t need Peter to confirm that either.

“Go back to sleep,” Peter urges, and that sounds like a very good idea to Stiles. “You’ll need the energy to yell at me properly when you wake up later.” And yeah, Stiles will definitely do that. In the morning. After more sleep.

…

Stiles does not yell at Peter in the morning. Primarily because he doesn’t actually wake up until the sky has turned dark once again and morning had long since gone, and secondly, because Peter buys him an ice cream cone from Mc Donald’s which they eat on the hood of their car in an empty parking lot with only the company of moths swarming street lamps and bats swooping for their dinners above them. 

It’s peaceful.

Something he hadn’t felt in Beacon Hills in a long time. So although he won’t say it, he agrees with Peter’s decision to remove them from their hometown. He’s accepted it, and he’s grateful he supposes, even if he’s not particularly glad for it.

Inhale. 1. 2. 3. 4. 

Exhale, 1. 2. 3. 4. 

Breathing feels like a relief out here, wherever here was, instead of a burden. 

Stiles is ready to stop being a burden.

“What’s our next step?” He asks Peter. 

Peter hums for a moment, “It depends.” He says, and doesn’t continue.

“On?” Stiles prods, barely holding back an exasperated sigh. _Werewolves_ he lamented, before recalling that he now was one.

“On whether or not you’re ready for us to begin establishing our pack.”

Stiles tilted his head, feeling distinctly wolf-like. “And what would that involve?” He asked, trying not to focus on the feeling of syrupy contentment that he got from hearing Peter say _our pack_.

Peter’s eyes turned predatory anyway, a combination of whatever devious thoughts he had swirling around in his mind, and the spicy sweet scent Stiles could smell himself giving off. 

“Finding a territory.” He said.

“Uh huh.” Stiles nodded.

Peter leaned in, “Claiming it.” His nose brushed lightly against Stiles’s chin, along his jaw bone, angling down, and Stiles exposed his throat to give him further access. Peter presses a ghost of a kiss into soft skin, “Claiming each other.”

Stiles shivers. Everything feels hypersensitive, Peter’s touch, Peter’s scent, _Peter_. Stiles is overwhelmed in the best and worst ways. He can’t think and doesn’t care, but he has to anyway. “You want me to claim you?” He checks, a little surprised. Peter must hear it in his voice and goes to pull away, Stiles only lets him draw far enough back so that the only thing they can see is the other’s face.

“I want us to claim each other, darling. Do you know what that means?” Stiles shook his head no. In all the research he had ever done, he’d never come across the specifics for inner pack workings, he had figured it was a secret closely guarded and closely kept.

“Wolves mate for life. Werewolves inherited this trait, and a bite made with the mutual intent to claim and be claimed will scar over on a wolf’s body, making that a mating bite, and the wolves a mated pair. I want us to be mated, sweetheart.”

Though Peter’s heart did not stutter, Stiles couldn’t believe his ears alone, so he counted his fingers instead. Praying that everything happening was real. That Peter really wanted him like that, and when he reached ten and checked it twice more, he let himself breathe a sigh of relief. Without panic or doubt or fear of this being all in his head, Stiles could think through his own feelings and thoughts. He thought of Peter, his brilliant mind, cunning and sharp and devious, the witty remarks and banter (which lately now, only happened when Peter stopped mother henning Stiles enough to be playful. Now that Stiles resolved to not need to be mother henned, he planned on starting that up again.) 

There was soft seduction, and times when Stiles thought he would melt from the scorching heat of Peter’s intensity. His soft side, if it could really be called that, involved much fretting, and scenting, and worrying, and Stiles loved it. He loved how playful Peter could be, and how disdainful he could be when something was too plebeian for Peter’s posh taste, which he indulged like no tomorrow. Stiles thought his feelings for Peter might be more than he thought, ever thought possible. Borderline if not already head over fluffy wolf tail in love.

“Stiles?” Peter said uncertainly, when the silence had dragged on too long.

Stiles had gone through all his thoughts and feelings, considered everything he knew about the man in front of him, and made a decision. In the end, it was probably the easiest one he’d ever made.

“I want that too.” Smile breaking across his face, his first since they’d escaped. “I want everything you’ll give me. Everything you want.” Peter wanted to taste his boy’s smile, his joy. So he did until they were both gasping for air and Peter’s tongue had thoroughly explored the mouth behind the perfect lips beaming at him. Because he could, he gave Stiles a lecherous grin that probably held a little too much genuine contentment and continued their earlier conversation.

“Giving me everything I want seems rather… inadvisable.”

“I disagree.” Stiles countered. “I think there’s nothing else I’d rather do.”

“Most would warn you away.” He added, “I might take advantage.”

“I trust you, Peter.” Stiles shot him a glare before Peter could even open his mouth, and said firmly, “I. Trust. You. I want what you want.”

“And if I want you under me, whenever I want, wherever I want it?” Peter argued.

“I’d be your willing victim.” Stiles replied calmly, like his dick wasn’t stiffening at the mere mention.

“What if I wanted you riding me? Bouncing on my dick until your hole was loose and puffy and you were sobbing from overstimulation?”

“I’d take everything you gave me, and when you finished, a plug to hold all your cum inside.”

Peter inhales the scent of his beta, his boy, his mate soon, and says, “Inside me.” He wants to be claimed and taken as much as he wants to claim and take. He wants Stiles, and Stiles practically glows with every reassurance. 

Peter slides off the hood so long legs can wrap around his waist as he stands in front of Stiles, pulling them flush, chest to chest, their hips slotted together, and hands running up and down grasping at skin and cloth and hair. They grind hard and slow, mouthes meeting over and over, again and again as their tongues battle and dance. Stiles shakes apart and Peter holds him through it.

“Yes.” Stiles pants out when he can breathe again, and Peter delights at hearing such a simple word that meant so much more.

* * *

  
  


One could say that Stiles and Peter’s relationship was a bit of a study in contradictions. On one hand, their progress had been glacier slow; Starting off as unknowns on opposite sides of a playing field, to a known enemy, an untrustworthy ally, from playing checkers to chess where one of the pieces began to work toward his own goal and revealed he’d been the opposing player all along—aiming for the murder of the White King and his own Black Pawn who thought she’d been queen. Then nothing, another prison although this one not in his own mind or of death, escape, and finally the Wild Hunt. 

On the other hand, while all that happened, the literal years between instances first and last, the time spent apart or working against them, Stiles and Peter had formed a bond. Not just a pack bond although they had that too, and for far longer than Stiles would admit should anyone had asked if the thought hadn’t been ludicrous on more than one occasion. Stiles and Peter were always a tentative something, unnamed but there, and it meant more than Stiles’ feelings for Lydia ever had, and more than Peter’s anger towards the world. More so even than his hate for his mistake of a beta turned true alpha. 

For a relationship that should be nonexistent, it had existed and seemingly thrived, moving the speed of molasses and next to that of a formula one car. 

Things in the world had been fucked up since the dawn of time, Stiles and Peter were just 2 more in a sea of unreality and nonexistence, a feeling that persisted when they returned. When only one other person remembers who you are, you have a lot of time to reflect on your life and things you’d rather not think about. 

Stiles never stops thinking.

It’s a bit of a bitch to be honest. 

“Peter,” Stiles called, level toned because with supernatural hearing he had finally learned he really didn’t need to yell. He’d hurt his own ears more than once with the sound of his own voice and Peter has pictures of him looking like an offended cat. Really, no need to add fodder to the canon of somewhat useless blackmail that Peter had acquired. 

Said werewolf sauntered in and Stiles couldn’t help but smile. His Alpha (and fuck if it still doesn’t freak him out to think it on occasion, with an additional side serving of huh, how did that happen?? And oh, yes, that feels right) held himself with ease and confidence he’d never truly had in Beacon Hills. Stiles couldn’t say where they were now aside from a quaint bed and breakfast that Stiles felt way more comfortable in than the disgustingly lavish hotel from the night before. It’s not that the where mattered honestly because they’d be moving on again the next day, not ready to settle yet and still too close for comfort. They wanted faraway from their hometown. Peter because of Stiles, and Stiles because of Peter. 

They wanted a home.

“Yes, Darling?” 

Stiles opened his mouth and shut it without saying anything. He patted the bed instead silently inviting Peter to join him because if he spoke before he thought he’d end up rambling and making a whole mess of things. Stiles was well acquainted with his flaws and lycanthropy didn’t cure his inherent clumsiness or tendency for ramble pretty much always. Sure he’d been quiet lately, but that had been out-of-sorts-Stiles. Becoming a werewolf when he’d never really wanted to be one and then learning to control his new instincts with less than a sixth of his pre-Wild Hunt support system had been stressful on top of all the emotional trauma the Wild Hunt caused. 

In all fairness, Stiles thinks his breakdown should not have only been allowed, but expected even.

Anyway, so not the point. 

Fun fact, ADHD did not go away when one receives the Bite, capital B because Peter had been doing a lot of biting of the Stiles recently. The fun kind. Which reminds him, now is not the time for internal rambling either. Stiles has things he needs to say to Peter before the fun kind of biting can continue.

Important depressing things.

“Stiles, darling?” Peter called. Stiles blinked at the change of position. Not only had he not noticed Peter join him, he hadn’t even registered being pulled onto his wolf’s lap.

“Oh.” He replied. “Hello.”

Peter smiled and the ridiculous softness his expression held had Stiles’ heart skipping a beat.

“Hello, sweetheart. Are you out of your head yet, or would you like a few more minutes?”

“As long as you’re holding me?” Stiles considered, “All the minutes.”

Peter huffed at his ridiculous boy. “If you just wanted to cuddle and scent me that could have been arranged without the subterfuge.”

Stiles snorted, “You love subterfuge. If there was a class you could take to learn it, you’d be teaching the class.”

“That’s not...incorrect.” Peter admitted, like Stiles didn’t already clearly know.

Although, they were off topic, the one Stiles needed to address. He just didn’t know how. He glances up at Peter, sees his wrinkled nose and wonders what Peter can read from his peppery scent which Stiles’ learned he gave off when conflicted or in an emotional tizzy. He buries his head into Peter’s neck and inhales the soothing scent of Peter-Alpha, pack, and a mix of loving concern instead of his own.

It settles him.

Stiles thinks that may be one of the things he likes best about being a werewolf.

“I need to apologize.” He says eventually.

Peter makes a noise, startled and curious.

“I can’t pretend our past hasn’t happened. We wouldn’t be here if it didn’t. It’s just…” Stiles shrugged. “We have a bit of a shitty past, Creeperwolf. And I need to apologize because I helped kill you,”

He pauses, Peter is stiff beneath him and that’s fair. Stiles is about to say so much worse.

“I helped kill you, Peter, and I don’t regret it.”

“Stiles—”

“No, please don’t move, I’m not trying to hurt you, I just need to say this because it’s important, and I—”

He chokes on the scent of Peter’s pain, and fuck. Whoever said communication was healthy needs to be told that’s bullshit. 

“I love you, Peter. I love you, and I hate that I helped kill you. And I hate the way we went about it, you didn’t deserve to burn again. You only wanted revenge, and I get that, but you were hurting people. My people. So I regret how we did it, I regret hurting you, and having to do it, but I don’t regret it. And I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry, and I love you, and I understand if you don’t want me anymore, but I swear to you, that if you want to be, you’re mine. And I will do anything for what’s mine.”

Peter’s shirt grew more wet as he talked, but Stiles couldn’t stop crying, just like he couldn’t stop hearing his heart, and Peter’s, or the salty scent of tears coming not just from Stiles. He couldn’t let go of Peter, he couldn’t look up. He didn’t know what he would do if Peter rationally decided he didn’t want Stiles anymore.

“You’re the most stunning and bewildering creature on this planet, Darling. I could never not want you, and when we are mates you’ll finally understand how perfect I find you.”

Stiles shook in his arms and Peter felt for both of them. They really did have a shitty past, and Stiles has never been the most rational or secure person. Peter, it seems, would just have to work on fixing that.

“Yes, you and the Scooby gang set me on fire. Yes, you helped kill me, and to be honest, sweetheart, while I’d have once gleefully murdered the others, I’m no longer insane. You did something that needed to be done, and while it deeply pains me to admit, it may have been a good thing.”

“I hate it.” Stiles whimpers. Peter nodded trusting Stiles to feel it and understand he felt the same.

“We’ve well learned that in our lives that our trauma is reoccurring, especially the things that hurt the most. I’ve been burned 3 times now, Derek’s right to his body violated by more than a few people. You were afraid of forgetting everyone after your mother and the nogitsune used that, and then you were forgotten yourself.”

Peter pulls in his only pack mate, his anchor, his Stiles, and tries to cover him as best he could. Like maybe they would be safe wrapped up into one, just interlocked limbs and entangled strings.

“I won’t ever hold something you need to do against you, my heart. I will never hold that against you. So you don’t need to apologize. Not to me, not to anyone ever again if you choose. I love you, Stiles.”

“Sappy Wolf.” Came the wet reply.

“Only for you.” Peter promised. 

Yes, their relationship should probably have never come to be, but fate wove strange patterns sometimes to create tapestries to awed, well worth the pain it took to get there.

Stiles toppled them over so they could lie down and took steadying breaths curled up against his will-be-mate.

“I can’t wait to be bound to you.” Stiles murmured, recalling his earlier thoughts and knowing well in his heart that yes, while he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, they’d been bound for a long while now, this next step would just be even more official.

And if Peter had asked—because Peter is not _anyone_ — then Stiles would have told him he knew of their packbond the night they created it. The night Stiles crashed his jeep into an overgrown lizard, had his heart stomped on, his body still radiating pain from torture no one cared enough to notice, still smarting from the betrayal of his supposed best friend and the harsh words from Derek who he’d just begun to trust while finally beginning to be trusted in return. 

The night Peter had been the only one there for him. The night that turned to day with Peter holding Stiles to his chest and drawing pain, leaving only when Stiles’ dad came home with a press of his lips to Stiles’ temple and a promise to return.

Peter kept his promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, happy holidays, and drop a comment and/or a kudos to tell me what you thought! Hopefully I’ll get another chapter up early in the new year, or even before, hell who knows. I’m working on Munchkin in the meantime, as well as two other fics, apocalypse after canon au, and female stiles au, both with STETER. 
> 
> And if you’re into Stisaac or Supernatural I got the first chapter of a crossover fic I wrote as a B Day gift for a friend up now too. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!!

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like this is the most in character I’ve ever written Peter, and I enjoyed it so much. Planning and Patience for the win! But Peter dude your creeper side is showing, lowkey.  
> Anyhoo thanks for reading, I’m exited to write the rest of this! Chapter 2 is already half way done so hopefully it’ll be up soon. Leave a kudos or a comment cause those make my day and provide writer fuel!


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